Lovely Misadventure in the Circus of Sorrows
by Almost Home
Summary: Sigmund calls Kyle things like "worthless" and "nothing" in an attempt to forget that the boy was once his everything. Collection of SigKyle drabbles/one-shots.
1. A Toast!

**A/N: All of these are going to be based on Lang Leav's book "Love & Misadventure," and that's where I got the poetry from. I don't own any of the poetry, and I certainly don't own FB&CC or any of its characters.  
There is a depressing lack of SigKyle fanfiction on this site, and they're my OTP. -sobs- **

* * *

_To new beginnings  
in fear and faith  
and all it tinges._

Sigmund had been without a roommate for three years now. He was none too happy when they presented him with another five-year-old boy and said, "This is Kyle. He'll be staying with you now." This new boy—_Kyle_, they said his name was—had ugly, dark freckles splashed across his nose and cheeks and the most _crooked_ teeth anyone had _ever_ seen. Sigmund disliked him instantly.

He disliked Kyle even more when the adults left the room and Kyle had the _audacity_ to put his bags on _Sigmund's_ bed. No, that wasn't the bed Sigmund slept in. That was the empty one. Sigmund was currently standing rigidly in front of the bed he slept in. But that other bed was in _his _room, meaning it was _his_ and _not_ the new kid's! He opened his mouth to say this, but then he sharply inhaled and closed his mouth again.

The _ugly_ new boy turned to Sigmund with a wide grin full of crooked, yellow, _ugly_ teeth and said, "My name is Kyle Bloodworth-Thomason," as if the adults hadn't made his name clear enough, "and I hope we can be friends."

Sigmund wanted to tell this stupid child that, no, they could _not_ be friends, that he _hated_ him, that he was going to _murder_ him in the most brutal way possible when opportunity presented itself. But he wasn't the most perfect English speaker and only knew how to express these things in German, so instead, he said, in a voice as stiff as his stance, "Sigmund. Hallo."

_To love is a dare,  
when hope and despair,  
are gates upon its hinges._

Sigmund had been with his roommate for three years now. He had adjusted to and even grown to _like_ the other boy's presence. However, nobody else did, and ultimately, Kyle was not invited to play games with the other schoolchildren very often, unlike Sigmund, who received such invitations nearly every single second that classes were not in session.

Today's game was a frivolous one that involved no magic unless the participants were _dared_ to use magic, and if he was going to play a game that was so seemingly boring, the least they could do was allow his roommate-slash-best-friend to play, too. Kyle rejected the offer at first, saying he really needed to study for an upcoming test, but after much begging, he gave in. Now, the two of them and four other children were sitting in a circle playing this _silly_ game called "Truth or Dare."

"Sigmund, truth or dare," said a boy with round cheeks, a pig's nose, and square glasses that didn't go well with the shape of his face _at all_. The young wizard frequently had to remind himself to be polite and to _not_ crinkle his nose in disgust while in this boy's presence.

"Dare," came the reply, the _same_ reply that had been given the last eleven times he'd been asked that question. Even at eight years old, there were some truths that he didn't want Piggy to know.

The fat boy's lips curled up in a way that was supposed to look mischievous or even sinister but just ended up making him look even uglier. "I _dare_ you to kiss Mihaila."

Sigmund cast a glance at the brunette next to him; she averted her gaze, blushed, and began playing with the end of one of her braids. "No," he curtly responded. Mihaila smiled in a sad way that could have indicated both relief and disappointment. "I don't want to."

"But if you don't do it, you _lose!_"

"I. Don't. Want. To." He stood up and brushed some dirt off his pants.

"And where are _you_ headed off to?" Kyle inquired.

"I'm not _playing _anymore," Sigmund informed the group, a substantial amount of venom in his voice, and then he headed off to anywhere but _right there_.

He hated losing, but he just told himself that he _didn't_ lose; he _chose_ to stop playing after they asked him to an impossible thing: kiss a girl. It wasn't the kissing he had a problem with. It was the _girl_. He didn't _like_ girls. Girls were dangerous with all of their _cooties_. Boys were so much better. Boys didn't have cooties. Boys were _safe_.

...And Kyle, he believed, was the safest.


	2. Xs and Os

**A/N: I am horribly dissatisfied with the last chapter, which was an abomination, but I like this one much better. They're still little boys at Milkweed in this one, too!  
(Also, homework? What homework? I am totally not writing fanfiction instead of doing my final projects, ahahahaha)  
**

* * *

_Love is a game  
of tic-tac-toe,  
constantly waiting,  
for the next x or o._

Sigmund manipulated his magic quill pen so that it scratched another "X" onto the paper, and Kyle examined the nine squares carefully, thinking about the best spot to place his next "O." This was always how it was; Sigmund was always X's, and Kyle was always O's, and Sigmund never asked if Kyle wanted to be X's because X's were better and Sigmund wanted them all to himself, and Kyle never protested and remained content with his O's. Finally, the freckle-faced boy drew his "O" in the bottom left corner, and it was clear that this game was going to end in a draw, just like the last several had. Two more moves, and the match was over with no victor, and Kyle wrote a large "C" over that box to indicate their tie, and then he drew the next set of nine squares.

After so many rounds, Sigmund finally noticed something odd about the way they played this simple children's game: there was a total lack of communication. There was no "I want to be X's next time" or "Ugh! You blocked me!" or "I have a master plan" or even so much as a "_Hmm..._" They each sat there, silently strategizing within themselves. He realized that his friend was doing that thing where he took everything super seriously again, and Sigmund _hated_ that about him.

_Talk to me!_ he screamed within his mind, thinking that if he willed it hard enough, it would actually happen. He spent more of the next game watching Kyle's face, waiting for him to say something, than actually paying attention, so he played sloppily and lost. As Kyle marked his victory with a "K," Sigmund came to the conclusion that _he_ would have to be the one to speak first. He sighed, started setting up the next box, and said, "You can be X's now... if you want. Just this once."

"No, that's okay."

He was relieved because he didn't actually want to give up his X's, but he was frustrated when the other boy remained taciturn and failed to say anything else. "You're quiet today." This was met with a shrug. "You will never dazzle _anyone_ with your conversation skills. You know that, right?"

"So?"

"_So_, what if I _want_ you to talk to me?!"

"There's nothing to talk about." Kyle marked the paper again.

Sigmund folded his arms over his chest and groaned, and his quill pen scratched an "X" into a square with more force than necessary. "Then, _make something up. _Tell me a story, and _dazzle_ me with it."

The other boy thought for a moment and said, "Once upon a time, there was a boy who was a _horrendous_ tic-tac-toe player. He lost way too easily, and all of his opponents laughed at him for it." He drew a line through his row of three O's and chuckled. "The end."


	3. A Dangerous Recipe

**A/N: So, I have this marked Romance/Hurt/Comfort, and I know none of the chapters have been very H/C, but this fic could actually fit into a BUNCH of different categories. I hate it how FFn makes you choose only two. ;; The next chapter will be more closely related to H/C, I promise!  
As for this chapter... it's super romantic. /sarcasm  
**

* * *

_To love him  
is something,  
I hold highly  
suspicious._

A dinner date with his old rival was not how Kyle would have spent his ideal Friday night. To make matters worse, Sigmund could have afforded to book the whole restaurant but didn't, so now they had to be seen _together_ in _public._ But when the sorcerer said that it was his treat, Kyle thought that it might be okay to give this meeting a shot. He'd never been to this nice, expensive restaurant before, and if he could eat here for free, he might as well. He just hoped poison wasn't on the menu.

But looking around at the other well-dressed patrons and recalling that three of them had approached Sigmund and asked for his autograph before the boys even had a chance to pick up their menus, he began to question the other's motives. Every one of Sigmund's actions was shady in its own right, but... _He brought me here just to humiliate me and brag about how much better he is, didn__'__t he?_ "What's the trick, Sigmund?" he asked as casually as possible, glancing over the chicken section of the menu for the eighth time because it was more favorable than making eye contact.

"Trick? What trick? Kyle, there's no trick!" But as he said it, the corners of his mouth slowly turned upward in that suspicious way they always did when there was, _in fact_, a trick. "Your not-trust of people will be the _death_ of you."

"_Mis_trust," Kyle corrected. "The word you're looking for is _mis_trust, not not-trust."

Sigmund waved dismissively. "Whatever. Learn to speak the most dazzling German, and I'll do it with English, too." This comment was ignored.

"You're _sure_ there's no trick?"

The sorcerer's face fell, all traces of mischief seemingly gone, and Kyle _almost_ thought he was being honest when he said, "No. Absolutely none at all."

_Like having something,  
so very delicious__—  
then being told,  
to do the dishes._

Over the course of the meal, Sigmund was surprisingly... pleasant. He didn't insult Kyle once or make a single comment about his inferior table manners, and the two of them were able to have a decent conversation for the first time in years. It was nice—so nice, in fact, that when the sorcerer suggested they should stay for dessert, there was no way Kyle could resist saying "yes."

At the moment, he was picking off the last of his savory piece of pie—Sigmund having finished his own slice several minutes ago—when the waitress placed the check on the table and said, "You can pay whenever you're ready. There's no rush."

As the waitress walked away, though he knew it was wrong and somewhat selfish, he looked expectantly up at Sigmund or... rather, where Sigmund _used_ to be. All that remained of his rival was a fading puff of smoke. Horrified, Kyle let his fork clatter against his plate while his heart dived down into his stomach. He guessed it couldn't be helped at this point and reached for the check slowly, slowly, _so slowly._ He opened the black booklet even more slowly, if that was possible, and when he saw the damage, the number written next to "TOTAL," his heart soared into his throat. And thank goodness! Because if it hadn't been for that helpful organ, he would have screamed at the top of his lungs.

He was shaking so badly that the receipt fluttered out of its booklet and into his lap, facedown, and now he could see the message that had been composed on the back of it in a certain someone's extravagant handwriting: _Dazzle you later!_


End file.
